Two years ago today I finished writing my first book and then hid it away Didn't have a lot to say My train of thought derailed a lot And then went its own way I didn't try to guess the future but I guess I did It's more than just a premonition Happens somewhere every-day I let you see it yesterday I told you to, you read it through, you said 'It was okay' When I gave the book to you Everything I wrote back then started to come true I guess they try to tell me this before I know I'm not just guessing anymore I wrote then with no regrets but it's different now The more you read the stranger that it gets I need a place to hide If someone reads the final page I won't get out alive